


praise loudly, blame softly

by bergamots



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, The Crown (TV)
Genre: F/M, For the most part, The au that nobody asked for, alchemy is still a thing, rebecca is a messy drunk and an even messier flirt, roy and riza live happily ever after, there may be some slight deviations in the plot later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-12-08 11:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bergamots/pseuds/bergamots
Summary: "I have seen three great monarchies brought down through their failure to separate personal indulgences from duty. You must not allow yourself to make similar mistakes. And while you mourn your father, you must also mourn someone else: Elizabeth Mustang. For she has now been replaced by another person, Elizabeth Regina. The two Elizabeth's will frequently be in conflict with one another. The fact is, the crown must win. Must always win." Royai!Crown AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haganenobeato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenobeato/gifts).



> i must admit that i'm a sucker for riza in a crown, and even more so for roy referring to her as 'his queen'.
> 
> this fic combines both of those. it's not necessary to have seen the series, but i do recommend it!!!
> 
> this is dedicated to mar bc she's always up for my incoherency about royai and she deserves the universe and more. i hope this ficlet collection will suffice for the time being.

Riza hated being nervous, feeling nervous. It was an unsettling sensation, like insects crawling over and _under_ her skin simultaneously. She had been experiencing it more often than not recently – and it was all due to the man sequestered away with her father and his Lords and Dukes and Barons and whatnot in the meeting room across from her. The closed doors across the hallway from where she paced anxiously bore no secrets as the minutes passed, and her lips nearly scarlet with her worrying. The guards who stood outside paid her no mind – they weren’t meant to, of course, but Riza privately wouldn’t be surprised if they would gossip about her later, down in the service quarters.

She had never been the most carefree of girls – certainly not compared to her younger sister, but Riza often wondered and worried of what the household thought of her.

Heir presumptive.

Princess.

Awkward.

Snobby.

Unfit for the throne.

She turned on her heel once more and ducked behind the large arrangement of peonies and baby’s breath on the antique table near the doorway, twisting some of the blossoms over and over again through her fingers until they were stained green with chlorophyll. _Why was it taking them so long?_ It was a simple ceremony – and as much as she knew her father wasn’t overly fond of her groom-to-be, Riza knew him well enough to understand he would want all this pomp and circumstance done with as quickly as possible, regardless of who he was subjecting it to.

Neither of them had asked for this life – she knew her father had never even considered the possibility that he could one day be king – Zolf had seemed so _right_ for the throne. He had the gift of conversation and putting an entire room at ease, regardless of class or affiliation. He was well-liked by the aristocracy and the people alike, and seemingly never put a foot wrong. He was a man groomed for the throne since before he could talk.

Her father had no such gift, nor the privilege of the necessary attention needed to rule. She knew that public opinion wasn’t so harshly divided anymore, but it still stung that they were in no better position to present themselves to the public any more than the public had a right to choose who their sovereign was.

She had heard the rumours surrounding Roy. The choices his family had made.

Riza would wager that her own had done far worse.

The heavy oak doors suddenly opened and the peony petals that she had been rubbing between her fingers scattered to the ground as she craned her neck over the flowers, desperately trying to find a familiar face amongst the nobility slowly filing out of the room. Barely any of them glanced in her direction, instead favouring to talk with each other in hushed tones, pulling at their ceremonial sashes and pins as the grandeur of the event was slowly swept away. Her father nodded to her as he passed, a pained kind of smile resting on his face.

She barely acknowledged her father as her fiancée crossed the hallway and she all but hurried to his side, not caring for a moment who was watching her. Roy laughed a little, curling his arm very carefully around her waist, just shying the line that was appropriate and _not_.

“So?” Riza asked quickly, trying hard not to let the smile twitching in her lips to become a full-on grin. “How did it go?”

“As well as could be expected for an exiled Xingese prince dearest,” Roy murmured, guiding them to behind the floral arrangement, away from the prying eyes of the servants and her mother. “I’m a duke now. At this rate we’ll all die of old age before they finish saying our names and titles in full.”

“And you’ll be a prince again next week so I want no complaints from you,” Riza admonished, ducking her head slightly. Her stomach was either in her throat or lodged somewhere between her knees – she had never felt quite so _giddy_ before – nervous and excited and terrified all rolled into a messy knot of emotions that she wasn’t sure she could ever untangle. Roy sighed dramatically, his other arm snaking around her waist and pulling her properly into his space.

“I won’t have any so long as you grant one favour.”

Riza looked up at him, confused. “What favour?”

His dark eyes looked beyond her for a moment before his mouth was on hers, hot and wet and delicious in ways that made her toes curl in her pumps. His hands quickly cupped her face and she couldn’t supress the shiver that travelled down her back as his fingers found the sensitive parts of her skin between her neck and ears.

She couldn’t remember the last time they had managed to sneak off and have an afternoon for themselves – the past few weeks had been absolute _madness_ with wedding preparations and his changing of names and nationalities to be eligible to marry her at all: in the chaos and confusion Riza wondered whether she would ever see her beloved before the wedding day itself.

Roy was also very, very, _very_ good at kissing and privately she thought it was probably a good idea that they were kept busy with their own duties before the big day, otherwise she feared that she wouldn’t be able to leave his side (or his bed in the small hours when Mama and Papa were none the wiser).

“ _Ahem,_ ” coughed her mother to their left and she felt him grin against her lips before dropping one final kiss before pulling back and smiling awkwardly.

“Mama…” Riza said a little breathlessly, and Roy ducked his head behind her, trembling with laughter. She elbowed his side as elegantly as she could, and turned to her mother properly, very much aware of the blush staining her cheeks. “What is it?”

The Queen fixed her eldest daughter with a hard stare. “You need to come with me, Elizabeth,” the woman said firmly. “Your sister wants your opinion on her hairstyle for next week.” Her gaze settled on Roy, who had composed himself somewhat. “I believe your aunt was looking for you, Roy. You’d best go find her.”

“Of course ma’am,” he replied, dropping a light kiss on Riza’s cheek. “I’ll see you later,” he murmured softly, before quickly striding out the room.

Riza turned to her mother. “Mama, I-”

“That is _enough,_ Elizabeth,” her mother interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “I will not have the servants’ gossip about _anything_ this close to the wedding, do you understand me?”

Riza nodded, moving to adjust the peonies. “Yes, mama.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's so much fun to write royai weddings guys. we have a little more plot hinted at in this chapter too!

The King was well-known for being a somewhat difficult man at the best of times, but on the day of his eldest daughter’s wedding Major Matthew Miles felt that the man was perhaps leaning into his ill-tempered persona a little too much.

“Is it too _hard_ ,” the older man fumed, wringing his hands in agitation, “to expect some sort of _professionalism_ for crying out loud? It is my daughter’s wedding-”

“Right you are, sir,” Miles smoothly interrupted, taking the bowtie from the young butler (a new one, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him) and folding it in his hands in the _proper_ fashion, jerking his head towards the younger man to leave. “You must forgive us; we are all just as excited as you must be.”

Berthold eyed the Major carefully, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Are you doing that Ishvallan thing where you say nice things to my face, but mean much ruder things in your words?” He blew the smoke out lazily, watching the tendrils dissipate into the air. “Well, Major?”

Miles blinked, nonplussed. “Of course not, your majesty. But if I may present you with a challenge…” Berthold snorted derisively.

“A sea captain’s young bride, fell into the bay at low tide...” Miles began, the barest of smirks pulling at his lips.  There was a pause, before the King sighed, and readjusted his position as Miles began to fasten the tie. “You could tell by her squeals,” he continued, “that some of the eels-”

He pulled back and nodded at the King. Berthold raised an eyebrow.

“-had discovered a dark place to hide.” Miles finished easily.

“You’re getting better, Miles,” Berthold replied, rubbing at his chin. “Let me see…ah – there once was a girl named Mariah, who succumbed to a lover’s desire.” He accepted the sash given to him by another butler, motioning for Miles to stay close by. “She said ‘ _it’s a sin! But now that it’s in’,_ ”

A lewd smile grew on the King’s face. “‘ _Could you shove it a few inches higher?’_ ”

Miles hid a smile behind a gloved hand. “Very good sir. I will have to think of a winning one for next time.”

Berthold nodded, stubbing out his cigarette on the ashtray next to him on the mantelpiece, running a hand over his hair. “Do you think they will notice?” he asked, turning back to Miles and gesturing at his face.

“Does Your Majesty require more rouge?” an elderly butler asked, but Miles held up his hand, waving the man off.

“There are hot water bottles in the carriage for when you leave, which should do more than enough for your complexion. As soon as you are seated in the church nobody will pay you much attention, I confess,” Miles admitted.

Berthold smiled weakly. “But you don’t think-”

“I wouldn’t wish to overdo it, sir. It _is_ cold today. I think I’d be more worried for the princesses – I do not imagine they have the luxury of long johns like we do.”

The King laughed loudly, before coughing violently, gripping the back of the nearest chair as he bent over. There were a few moments of laboured breathing before he righted himself, moving the handkerchief away from his mouth – it was speckled with red, Miles noted uneasily. The wedding had been on everyone’s nerves, both inside and outside the palace: aside from the stigma Mustang brought over from his family based in Southern Xing, the amount of planning and preparing that had gone into this event meant that mistakes would not and _could not_ be tolerated.

This was the first _real_ test for the family – for Berthold’s family. The scandal that had arisen from Zolf’s sudden abdication and the much _quieter_ scandal that they had managed to keep almost entirely under wraps meant that they were being closely scrutinised, not only by their populace but by neighbouring nations. A transition like that was never meant to go peacefully – any sign of weakness in the family today would be torn apart for clues and signs of discord.

The door swung open suddenly, and Rebecca practically floated in, ignoring the sudden exclamations form the butlers hovering around the room.

“Papa!” she exclaimed, skipping over to him, a wide smile on her face as she balanced a cigarette in-between fingers tightly clenching a near-empty flute of champagne. “You look _very_ handsome.” She draped her free hand over her father’s shoulders and inclined her head at Miles, still smiling broadly. “Don’t you think so, _Major?”_

Miles bit down a smile and nodded. “Of course he does, Princess. I cannot imagine a prouder father.”

Something flickered in Rebecca’s expression, before she turned to face her father properly, deftly handing her glass and cigarette to a maid as she straightened his collar.

“You must look _perfect_ for Riza,” she murmured under her breath, the grin still sitting brightly on her face. Her dark hair had been tamed into a tight coif, with baby’s breath surrounding her head like a halo. She had changed into her bridesmaid dress: it was a simple design, accented with floral motifs from each district in the delicate lacing surrounding her bodice. It wasn’t _entirely_ suited to her – most certainly to Elizabeth, to be sure – but Miles felt that perhaps even old sibling rivalries couldn’t be laid to rest for the sake of each other.

Miles stepped back to allow the King and his younger daughter some privacy to talk, catching Rebecca’s eyes for a moment before another butler began to whisper furiously in his ear about an incident downstairs involving the groom’s party. Miles sighed inwardly, before gesturing for the man to lead the way.

He was going to need a drink after all this.

* * *

She could already hear the roars and screams from the crowd that had assembled outside the palace – a quick peek through the curtains confirmed just as much: the crowd was a sea of green and gold outside, as far as her eyes could see. All waiting for _her_.

Riza didn’t do well with stress of any kind. She never had – as a child she had always been the more reserved of her and her sister – Becca had always shone under the spotlight, practically lived for it. _Becca_ had the flair for the dramatics that lent her a particular kind of gravitas that Riza could only wish for. No amount of practice would ever fully prepare her for talking with people who may have well been strangers in any other situation: but for some reason being a _princess_ meant that everyone talked to her with the air of an old friend, with the assumption that they knew her intimately.

They did _not_.

Though she didn’t quite share her father’s hatred of public speaking – provided she actually _understood_ the topic and felt keenly about it, Riza certainly felt she could be very compelling; but the fact still remained that such a significant moment in her life was going to be watched by people of whom she had never met before and was unlikely ever to in future. It didn’t sit well with her that her marriage to Roy Mustang – and she was still shrieking a little inside that she was going to marry that beautiful, idiotic man and he would be all _hers_ – would be shared with people and countries beyond her reach.

It was a moment meant for them, and them alone. Not fifty million others.

She turned from where she hovered by the curtains, her hands running over the lace of her dress as she paced the room. She was grateful her mother wasn’t here, instead someplace else undoubtedly trying to reign in a younger sister that had already helped herself to too much brandy at breakfast, because Riza didn’t think she could listen to her prattling right now. She was a mess of emotions, but terror was the overarching one. What if she mucked up her vows partway through? What if he decided he didn’t want to go through with it, and just left her standing at the altar? What if-

“You’re going to wear a hole into that carpet if you’re not careful,” a familiar voice said behind her. She whirled around, hands flying to her mouth as she realised who had walked in.

“Roy, _what are you doing-”_

He smirked and held a finger up to his lips ducking his head out the doorway for a moment before carefully closing the door with a slight _click_.

“ _You can’t just-”_

It only took him three quick strides to gather her up in a bruising kiss, his warm hands cupping her face and sending shivers down her spine as his thumbs rubbed over her pale cheeks. Riza sighed into the kiss, allowing herself to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him closer to her – as much as her dress would let her. He was a much-needed reprieve from the emotions churning inside her, and though she _knew_ she wasn’t meant to be seeing him until the ceremony – the old superstitions surrounding the traditions of weddings niggled at the back of her mind – but there wasn’t anybody else she would be genuinely _happy_ to see in this moment. Her father never had the right words at the right time, her mother had far too many, and Becca – well, judging by the amount of brandy that was missing from the decanter at breakfast, Riza supposed that her younger sister wouldn’t be capable of much coherency anyway.

Roy treated her like a normal woman. Like a _human_. Too many people were always trying to touch her, to talk to her like they had any right and Zolf had –

She stopped that thought in its tracks, pulling back her shoulders slightly and standing straight, steadfastly ignoring the prickle travelling across her back. Now was not the time to dwell on a man who was a good as dead to the family.

Roy pulled back and inspected her, a soft smile on his face. “Much better,” he said lowly, carefully rearranging her fringe. “Now you have some colour to your cheeks.”

Her hands flew to her cheeks and she groaned, turning towards the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the small room. Roy laughed, a hand drifting down to rest on her waist, his fingers rubbing against the satin of her bodice reassuringly. “Did you have enough to eat this morning?” he asked quietly, shifting her hair aside to drop a kiss on her back, at the top of the mottled skin. She shivered slightly at the touch – not unwelcome, but she always marvelled at Roy’s capacity to love without any kind of hesitation.

“I had some toast,” she answered, closing her eyes and leaning back into his touch for a moment, focusing on her breathing. “I’ll be able to eat once this is all over – this dress, I swear to-.”

Roy snorted harshly. “We’ll all be happier once this is over. I saw your sister on my way here – is she-”

“ _Yes_ ,” she interrupted tiredly, turning so she could face him properly. Up close, she could see the signs of stress on his face – he certainly could hide it better than she ever would, but it made her feel a little better to know that she wasn’t the only one stressing out about this. Her fingers brushed along his brow bone and she stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss him softly. “We’ll deal with her later – well, _somebody_ will. We have more important things to do.”

“Like getting married,” he murmured, the joy obvious in his voice.

“Like getting married,” she repeated, unable to keep the broad smile off her face.

He kissed her once more, and Riza let herself smile widely, giggling against his mouth as he peppered her face with kisses that were more ticklish than soothing: she batted his hands away, grasping them tightly as she tried to fight him off.

“You’re the _worst-”_

 _“You_ like it,” he reminded her playfully, smirking as she tried to push his arms back to his side. She was too restrained in this dress; normally Roy wouldn’t underestimate her in any kind of fight, whether verbal or physical, but seeing her struggle in this strange, made-up way was far too entertaining.

He relaxed his arms and let her adjust herself and smooth down the dress quickly. She smiled at him nervously, eyes bright. “You should- you should go,” she said hesitantly, twisting her fingers together. Roy inclined his head.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine!” she replied quickly. “Just – you know how I am with crowds, and-”

Roy nodded, reaching to adjust the pearl necklace she was wearing – a gift from him early on in their courtship. Though it was easy enough to transmute mother-of-pearl, this necklace had been created in the traditional fashion (Roy claimed he had hand-harvested each and every pearl – Riza thought he was full of it).

The gifts didn’t matter to her – she had more than enough wealth simply from her own savings, not to mention the coffers that were made available to her if she so wished: but no amount of money could buy what she craved – privacy, quiet, _boundaries_.

He was the first person that didn’t immediately treat her like an old friend, like he was privy to her secrets and affections. It was a startlingly refreshing change from the other suitors her mother had been coaxing over: for once in her life she was able to savour the ability to say, ‘ _call me Riza_ ’ of her own volition. The way _he_ had breathed it hadn’t helped her either – like a prayer, like she was _sacred._ The subsequent kiss had sealed her fate: beyond the intoxicating feeling of him under her fingers, beyond the warmth that had burned like fire on her lips, there was a man who she was already half in love with, by the mere fact that he didn’t presume.

She wrung her hands slightly, trying to ease the nerves she could feel building once more. “Honestly though – you shouldn’t be here, where is Maes-”

“Maes may or may not be causing one hell of a distraction for me,” he quipped, rolling on the balls of his heels. “My time is probably up, anyway. I’ll-” He paused, cocking his head to the side before rubbing a thumb over her bottom lip – Riza tried her best not to close her eyes as a wave of pleasure brushed over her. He was _addictive_ , a trait that had reared its ugly head in the last few weeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she had time to properly enjoy the time she spent with him. In the days following the announcement of their engagement her grandfather had warned her that they days spent shrouded in secrecy were long behind them – Riza was only just beginning to appreciate the few stolen nights she had managed in the last month alone. She worried for him, sometimes; his marrying into this family was far more taxing for him than it would ever be for her, and yet he barely seemed to notice as more duties and responsibilities were thrust upon him.

_All for her._

“Now you look presentable,” he said softly, squeezing her hand tightly. “All prim and proper for the people.”

She bit her lip, nodding. “I’ll be glad when all of this is over,” she admitted, running her thumbs over the fingers grasping her hands. She could feel the heat from his body from where she stood, apart from him, and part of her desperately wished this whole affair could be over and done with without the pomp and circumstance. She was just so _tired_.

“Me too,” he replied, dropping a final, soft kiss on her cheek before ducking out the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. She could hear Maes beyond the wood, chastising her fiancé for taking so long.

“That butler was onto me, I swear if you-”

“You look fine, so obviously you _weren’t_ caught-”

“You won’t be so lucky – you’ve got lipstick all over you, idiot.”


End file.
